Coattails and Leather
by warinbabylon
Summary: Turlough observes a scene he'll keep his own counsel, thank you.


Turlough wondered and observed. He had always had to be on his toes: observant, mindful of others, their actions and motives. Although situations had admittedly changed, it was a habit he found he couldn't (and wouldn't) change.

The mug was warm in his palm and he wrapped his hands around it. It was chilly, even for his taste. That girl had to be downright cold. Observing her actions confirmed his presumptions. There she stood, her mostly bare arms wrapped about her figure. Her legs were mostly bare as well, covered in that ridiculous leather skirt only to mid thigh. Never practical, this Tegan Jovanka.

A girl - a human. Vibrant, fiery yet unaware of the depth of life. Human – aggressive, arrogant, ignorant. Tegan – just a child, really, on the brink of life, a life short lived – attacked like a candle lit on both ends. Attacked by the sheer power (passion) for simply drawing a breath, she like the rest of her race would rush to an end.

He shook his head. Her chin was suitably set, a sign of her stubborn independence. She wouldn't accept help if it were forced upon her. But quiet, she seemed small. Turlough laughed quietly: how often was he faced with the woman and actively forgot her petite stature. Her personality and presence was far bigger than her physical height. The shiver made her appear more of a woman-girl; a young female balanced on the edge of life worryingly teetering on a thin line. Soon she would tumble one way or another and then new situations would present themselves. She'd have to either scramble back up from girlhood to try again or accept that she had passed her innocent youth.

Hell, he'd done it. Pity he didn't like her more, or he might have been inclined to help.

There was movement behind his shoulder: a rustling of fabric, swipe of linen against skin. He could hear the silken lining pulling against the hemmed linen. And then the resident living in the clothing sound moved past him. Slow movement – not the slow of deliberate thought, but slow of insecurity.

The Doctor stood next to him; Turlough glanced up. He was biting his lip and his blue eyes were looking at nothing: signs of thought. Blond hair, longish-groomed yet leaning towards rebellious. Slender body, not thin – signs of athleticism. Young, but not immature, lines on the face revealed some weathering of the life lived; the blue of the eyes seemed ageless.

The being: a Time Lord, a Gallifreyan. A member of a revered race. Not to be trifled with or to be underestimated; best to remain on friendly terms yet keep a distance. Ally – not friend.

The Doctor moved next to him, unfolding his arms.

"Tegan…" he said quietly.

She heard him. It was evident in the tightening of her chin and her arms around her body. In response to this defiance, the Doctor sighed. And then took a step forward.

"Tegan…there's nothing we can do."

"Can…" she said, without turning around. "…or will?"

The Doctor lowered his chin, his gaze still remaining on the girl. Turlough could read the regret. "Can." The Time Lord emphasized. "Come back from the door, Tegan; you're getting wet."

Tegan tightened her arms in their self-protective pose.

The Doctor sighed again heavily and moved forward towards the petite human woman. When he was five feet from her, he dropped his arms and regarded her in a very stern manner.

"Tegan."

When she didn't respond, he reached for her shoulder : a firm touch, gentle, yet deliberate. Long pale fingers on the spotty color of her shirt.

The facial expression changed: a quick progression of emotions, but Turlough had been trained to study expressions. First there was the clarity of understanding: eyes widening, pull of the skin at the lips easing. Then – quickly – a dulling of the gaze, a slight drooping of the shoulders. Instead of turning the girl, he stepped in front of her, just shy of the rain outside their shelter. His hand fell from her shoulder, yet to Turlough seemed to linger, as if lost, as if dictated by something opposite of what he thought was right.

Chin tucked, the Time Lord sighed. "What's the matter, hmm?"

Tegan tilted her head back a little – Turlough could see the marriage of defiant strength and need for compassion in the set of the chin. "Hell's teeth," she breathed. Turlough lowered his gaze – tears were evident in her voice. "Don't you know?"

The Doctor's eyebrow raised, but Turlough's gaze was drawn to his hand. The fingers flexed, as if tactily carrying out an action his brain hadn't quite thought through.

"It really doesn't matter, does it?" Tegan said, her voice thick with upset. Turlough trained his gaze on her profile. At this oblique angle, her eyes appeared black, the tear on her cheek left a prism effect. "You'll tell me – "

"Nothing of the sort," the Doctor replied gruffly. His voice conveyed something to Tegan, Turlough throught. Something subliminal, something deep – something beyond the words. There was a momentary sway, Tegan seemed to draw closer to him, but then stopped, her chin jutting out more than usual.

The Doctor slowly shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders. The movement was slow, gentle, easy. Like lying a coat over a puddle, chivalrous. He pulled on the lapels a little, wrapping her more fully in the linen and silken material. "Tegan…" he began.

She burst into tears in an unconventional way: quietly. Turlough couldn't hear a sob or even a breath, but the pain was clear to see. The Doctor didn't react at all; his hands remained on the linen lapels.

"She was a child," Tegan said tightly. "A baby."

Turlough could see the Doctor tilting his chin more, the movement honed his gaze to the Time Lord. The look on the Time Lord's face had changed. There was a new presence: something Turlough knew well, and another with which he was familiar. There was pain, though he was sure it wasn't physical. His face lost some color. And there was emotion. Turlough can't define the emotion, but it seemed to physically impact the Time Lord. His hand slowly raised as if to touch her. Turlough watched as his thumb and long fingers came close to touching her face - a face now buried in her hands.

The hand hesitated by her cheek and then slowly came to rest on her shoulder. Tegan winced from the touch, physically recoiling it seemed from his touch. The girl fought to take a step back, but the Doctor's hand kept her where she was. There was a moment, a space of a breath, an eternity when time stopped, all movement ceased.

Then slowly, the linen wrapped girl was enfolded as well with one of the Doctor's arms. The sweater clad appendage slowly rounded the girl's shoulder clasping the opposite shoulder gently. At the avuncular embrace, Tegan took a step forward, lowered her hands from her face and pressed her cheek against his chest and shoulder. The Doctor blinked. Tegan's hands were tucked securely between them.

"I know," the Time Lord said quietly. "I know."

His legs widened a little as if to brace to take weight; his back straightened. Tegan's leather skirt was visible in the linen folds of the coat – contrasts. Her dark head of hair was against his white shirt and cream sweater and blond hair – contrasts. The Doctor simply blinked, his eyes hooded, his mouth slightly open as Tegan sobbed quietly – contrasts. A Time Lord hard pressed for emotion and a girl overwhelmed by it - contrasts. Contrasts yet complements.

The rain continued to fall and Turlough continued to observe. And he wondered if either of them knew they effected the other.


End file.
